Another Red Light
by paperstorm
Summary: All the dangerous situations they've been in, it never even crossed Sam's mind that he could lose Dean one day. A tag for 'Faith', 1x12. Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Tame Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Faith', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Sera Gamble.  
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**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

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><p>"We've done all we can."<p>

Sam's pretty sure those words will haunt him all the way to his grave. There's no way Dean's dying, there's just no way. He can't die – he's _Dean_. That's like saying the sum of two and two is seven. It just plain doesn't make any sense. He's Sam's asshole of an older brother. He's Sam's friend and partner; he's Sam's hero. He's annoying and overly macho and messy and loud and obnoxious, and Sam loves him. He's invincible, Sam's always been sure of that. Except now it looks like he isn't.

All Sam's life, all the dangerous situations they've been in, it never even crossed Sam's mind that he could lose Dean one day. It was short-sighted, maybe, and naïve, definitely, but Dean being there has just always been a given in Sam's mind. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west and Dean's there. He's there in the car, singing along horribly off-key to already questionable music. He's there on the other side of their booth at a diner, eating a bacon cheeseburger sloppily, the extra mayo he always orders in the corners of his mouth. He's there at night, in the other bed – or, more recently, in the same bed – breathing evenly and snuffling as he dreams. Even when Sam was in Palo Alto, Dean was always just a phone call away. He's always been there by Sam's side, and the idea that one day he might not be is too horrible to even think about.

He blinks back tears as he sidesteps the doctor and hurries off to Dean's room. Sam has more questions, but the guy's got this sympathetic look all over his face and if Sam hangs around he'll end up bursting into tears right there in the hallway. Not that he'd be embarrassed or anything – he doesn't know anybody here and hello, his brother is _dying_ so if Sam were to cry he'd be more than entitled to it – but he has to stay strong, for Dean. Dean, who'd kill to keep him safe, who always puts his own well-being behind everyone else's, who lives and breathes to take care of Sam.

Dean looks so pathetic and broken in the stiff hospital bed when Sam steps into his room that he almost starts crying all over again. There are tubes everywhere and machines beeping and humming; Dean's skin is so pale and sallow he practically looks dead already, and it takes every ounce of strength Sam has to keep from breaking down. Dean's supposed to be beautiful. He's supposed to be smiling and laughing so hard his eyes crinkle, or flushed and exhilarated from a hunt, or concentrating so much on a trick shot in a game of pool that the tip of his tongue pokes out from between his lips. He's never supposed to look like _this_.

"Have you ever actually watched daytime TV?" he grumbles sullenly. "It's terrible."

"I talked to your doctor," Sam starts, a little waver in his voice despite his best efforts.

"That fabric softener teddy bear, oohf. I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down."

"Dean," Sam pleads.

"Yeah." Dean sighs and shuts the TV off, tossing the remote onto the bed down by his knee. "Alright, well, looks like you're gonna leave town without me."

"What're you talking about?" Sam asks incredulously. "I'm not gonna leave you here."

"Hey, you better take care of that car, or I swear I'll haunt your ass," Dean drawls, and Sam's insides twist up into knots.

"I don't think that's funny."

"Ah, c'mon, it's a little funny."

Sam doesn't answer, _can't_ answer because it isn't funny, actually, it's maybe the most devastating thing he's ever heard. Dean doesn't speak for another minute, either, and Sam glances out the window and clenches his jaw painfully tight to keep control over the emotions swelling in his chest.

"Look, Sammy, what can I say, man? It's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw, that's it. End of story."

"Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options."

"What options? Burial or cremation? I know it's not easy, but I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it."

"Watch me," Sam challenges.

"Sam," Dean starts heavily.

"No!" Sam cries. "No, I'm not gonna just … damn it," he mutters as a few tears manage to slip passed his iron will and slide hotly down his cheeks. He wipes them away roughly, irritated at himself for not being able to be strong when Dean needs him.

He glances behind himself and then tugs the white curtain closed so they'll be left alone. Then he sighs shakily and stares at his hands. There are so many things he wants to say, but nothing seems right. All he knows for sure is that he'll move mountains before he's letting Dean die. He doesn't know the _how_ yet, but he's sure as hell going to find a way to save him.

"Hey," Dean says softly, and when Sam looks up Dean's got his arm extended like he wants Sam to take his hand. Sam does, and Dean pulls him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He squeezes Sam's hand and then he lifts it to his mouth and kisses Sam's fingers. "M'sorry. I know this is really hard, okay? So soon after Jess, too, it's just … it sucks. I'm really sorry, Sammy."

"How can you just sit there and talk about this like you don't even care at all?" Sam asks, halfway between angry and devastated.

"Because sometimes things just are what they are. I _do_ care, the idea of leaving you here alone, it's … it's eating me up inside. But I don't exactly have a choice, here, man."

Sam shakes his head urgently. "Yes you do. I'm not letting you die, Dean. We're gonna find something, I'll find a way."

"Sam …"

"No, don't bother trying to talk me out of it. I'm not losing you. I can't."

Dean looks pained and a little exasperated and really sad, but eventually he just nods. Sam gets the impression Dean's not actually agreeing with him, he's just placating him. "Look, go back to the motel for a while, huh? Get some sleep, you were up all night."

Sam doesn't argue, because it's six different kinds of pointless to argue with Dean when he's got his big brother hat on. It isn't a discussion when Dean gets like this – it's how Dean says it is and that's the end of it. But this time, Sam couldn't give a damn what his brother wants him to do. He's going to find a way to get Dean better, he _will_. Because he can't live without him. It isn't a matter of not _wanting_ to be away from Dean; it's that Sam _can't_. He can't breathe without Dean. His airways are always a little constricted when Dean's gone, his chest a little heavier, but it's just a million times worse since they've started the sexual aspect of their relationship back up again. They've only had sex three times in the last week and already Sam feels like he'd die without it. It's terrifying, how addicted he gets to Dean and how fast, but he's way passed the point of even bothering to resist.

"Alright," he says finally. "I'll go. But I'm coming back. You get some rest, I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Yeah. Okay," Dean sighs, thankfully understanding that Sam's not going to back down on this one.

Sam tries to get up, but Dean doesn't let go of his hand, pulling him back down.

"Sammy, I …"

"No way, don't you dare give me the 'if I don't make it' speech," Sam cuts in. He cups Dean's face in his hand and leans down to press a quick kiss to Dean's lips. "You're gonna be fine. There's no chance I'm lettin' you off the hook this easily."

Dean snorts. "You call a massive heart attack and electrocution 'easy'?"

Sam's throat clicks on loud swallow as he tries to force everything he's feeling to stay below the surface. He blinks furiously and his jaw trembles with the effort it takes to keep from crying. He's always been a more emotional person than Dean is, and he's never been any good at hiding it. "M'so sorry. I shouldn't have left you down there alone."

"You were saving some small children, Sam," Dean points out, a hint of a smile in his tone. "Pretty sure that's a valid excuse."

Sam laughs quietly in spite of the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. "Okay. I … I'll see you in a bit."

"Sure." Dean smiles weakly and kisses Sam one more time before he leaves.

Sam takes as much time as he can pretending to browse through the contents of the vending machines in the lobby, but eventually he starts making his way back to their room. He can't imagine Layla's going to be in there too long; after all, what could Dean even say to her? She's going to be dead in six months, and even though it isn't actually Dean's fault, Sam knows his brother well enough to know that's how he'll take it. She could've been saved, and in a way it is because of them that she wasn't. Sam knows they did the right thing, but that doesn't stop him from feeling like crap about it. He hates it when they can't save everyone.

He passes Layla on her way out, in the hall just a few doors down from the one Dean's behind. She smiles at him sadly and gives him brief hug.

"Thanks for calling," she says.

"Yeah," he answers. "Listen, I'm sorry, that you …"

She shakes her head. "It's alright. It isn't your fault. Go take care of your brother, okay? I think he could use a friend right now."

"Okay," Sam nods.

"He's a good person," she says softly. "You both are. He deserved to be saved just as much as me. Make sure he knows that?"

Sam nods again. She pats his arm a few times and then she walks away. Sam watches her go with a furrowed brow and a heavy feeling in his gut. Rationally, he does know that what's going to happen to her isn't their fault. But it hurts sometimes to be forced to face how unfair the world can be. When he gets back to their room, Dean's standing by the window, his back to Sam, watching a car drive away that Sam assumes is Layla's. His shoulders are tense and Sam hovers by the door apprehensively. There are a couple of different ways this could go, the worst of which is Dean blaming Sam for everything that happened, but none of them are good. Sam doesn't want to fight with Dean – not now, not when he came so close to losing him – but he has a sinking feeling they're going to fight whether he wants it or not.

When Dean finally turns around, though, there are tears in his eyes and his face is crumpled into a frown. That, Sam wasn't expecting. Sam thought Dean would be angry; not sad.

"Dean," he starts gently, but Dean cuts him off.

"Don't," he says sharply, wiping roughly at his eyes and pacing across the room. He grabs his duffle bag and starts shoving things back into it. "There's nothing you could say right now to make me feel better, so just don't."

Sam listens, because Dean's right. There isn't really anything he could say that would make things better or different. This is one of those situations that just sucks, no two ways around it. And sometimes giving it time is the only way Dean can deal with things. Sam likes to talk things out, but Dean doesn't function that way. So Sam follows his brother's lead and starts packing up the notebooks and his laptop and the random articles of clothing that are strewn around the room. He's almost done and is about to ask Dean if he's ready to go, when there's a loud crash from across the room and Sam spins around to find Dean standing next to a broken lamp that used to sit on the bedside table.

"Fuck!" he cries, flailing a little in obvious frustration. He doesn't say or do anything to give away whether he knocked it over by accident or on purpose, and Sam doesn't ask.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, really just wondering if Dean cut his hand or something on the shattered porcelain, but Dean takes it the wrong way. He shoots an absolutely murderous glance at Sam over his shoulder.

"No, I'm not okay!" Dean explodes. "Layla's going to die, Sam! She only has a few months to live, and she had the chance to be saved and we took it away from her! And on top of everything else, I'm alive right now because somebody else is dead! That Marshall whatever his name was, he didn't deserve to be killed by _my_ heart-attack! How the hell am I supposed to live with that?"

"I don't know," Sam mumbles.

"Well you better start thinking!" Dean snaps irately. "Because this is your fault!"

And yep, there it is. Sam knew they'd circle back around to that eventually. "Dean, if Layla knew that in order for her tumor to go away someone else would have to die from it, do you really think she'd even _want_ to be healed? I mean, would you have? If you'd known?"

"Maybe Sue Ann would've killed, like, I don't know, a murderer or a child-molester or something in Layla's place! Maybe she would've chosen someone who actually _did_ deserve to die!"

"You don't really believe that. The whole _point_ of this is that it isn't up to one person to decide who lives or dies!" Sam insists. "And besides, I _saw_ the newspaper articles, I saw the people she was choosing! They weren't murderers or child-molesters; it was someone who worked at an abortion clinic and an openly gay school teacher, stuff like that! They weren't bad people, they just did something _she_ considered unholy because she was a whack-job!"

"Well you know what? Whatever the reason, I still have to live the rest of my life knowing someone died so I could live," Dean chews out. "And that's because of you! You did this, you put this on me!"

"I didn't know what Roy was really doing!" Sam protests.

"Yeah, well that's just very convenient."

"Come on, don't do that! Dean, we hunt ghosts and werewolves and demons and a hundred other crazy things! We see more impossible things happen in a day than most people see in their whole lifetime! I thought he was a healer! I did research on him, people were sick and then after he got done with them they weren't anymore! I read eyewitness accounts, they all seemed legit! So why is it so insane for me to believe he was the real deal? I mean, we know psychics exist! Hell, I might be one!"

"And say you did know what he was really up to?" Dean challenges. "Would it have mattered?"

"What?" Sam asks, disbelievingly. "Are you asking me, if I knew that for you to be healed someone else would have to die, if I'd still have done it?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking."

"Of course I wouldn't!" Sam cries. "How could you even think I would?"

"You were pretty desperate to save me, kiddo."

"Yeah, because you're my brother! Because you're my best friend and my partner and – everything else!"

Dean just sort of scoffs and turns away. Sam hates this; he hates that they're in this situation, he hates that Dean has to feel this way, and he hates that Dean's mad at him. Most of all, he hates that it's already done and there's nothing he can do to fix it. But the truth is, as horrible as he feels about the man who died so Dean could live, Sam can't really be sorry for what he did. It gave Dean back to him, in Sam's mind that's the only thing that matters.

"What would you've done?"

"What?"

"Get off your freakin' high horse for half a minute here and imagine what you would've done if we'd been switched, if I was the one who got hurt. You really expect me to believe you wouldn't have done whatever it took to save me?"

"That's not fair," Dean starts, but Sam's had enough.

"God, you don't even know!" he yells hysterically. "When that doctor said your heart was damaged, Dean, he actually said the words 'we've done all we can do'! Do you have any idea what was going through my head? How fuckin' scared I was, how devastated? You were gonna die! You mean _everything_ to me, and you had less than a month to live! Was I really supposed to just sit back and let it happen? Especially when …"

"Especially when what?" Dean asks quietly.

"Especially when I just got you back," Sam answers, voice wavering with the tears he can barely hold back anymore.

Dean pauses, considering Sam with slightly narrowed eyes. He doesn't look angry, though, just confused. "What do you mean?"

Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath before he answers. Up until this point, he'd done a pretty good job of keeping everything inside, but right now all the emotions are bubbling up to the surface and his shoulders sag with the weight of how close he really did come to losing his brother forever.

"I've had feelings for you since I was a teenager, Dean. And when we were together it was amazing, it was everything I'd been dreaming of for so many years but had just been too terrified to tell you," he starts slowly, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "But after I went away to school, I really thought that was it for us. I thought I'd never have you like that again. And now I do, and it's just … I fell for you again so damn fast it's ridiculous, and then like a week later, a doctor is telling me you have a month to live. How the hell do you think that felt on my end? To see you in a hospital bed looking like death warmed over, to know that unless I did something about it, I was going to lose you just when I'd finally found you again."

Dean doesn't answer. His expression is one Sam can't read – it's sort of bewildered and worried and unsure and sad all at the same time.

"I'm sorry about what happened," Sam forces himself to continue, even though there's a tear or two trailing down his cheeks. "I'm sorry Roy wasn't what we thought he was, I'm sorry you feel bad about that other guy and about Layla. But Dean, I can't be sorry that we came here, I can't be sorry that he healed you. I just can't. Honestly, I can't even be that appalled at what Sue Ann did. I know it was wrong, but she was losing her husband. Like you said, she was desperate. She was losing the person she loves, just like I was."

Dean inhales a little sharper than normal; Sam sees it rather than hears it, sees the way Dean's chest expands quickly and his eyes widen just slightly. He realizes a few seconds too late that this is the first time he's actually said the word 'love' to Dean this time around. He used to say it all the time, but after all it hasn't even been two weeks since their relationship became _more_ again, and even though Sam's always been sure he's in love with Dean, he didn't want to dive immediately into the hearts and flowers for fear it would send Dean running for the hills. And, as much as Dean insists he is, Sam _isn't_ actually a chick, and he's never been too into all that Hallmark stuff anyway.

The way he said it just now isn't quite the same as an actual 'I love you', he just said Dean was a person he loves, and that's true even when they aren't sleeping together. But still, it feels like it means something and Sam can tell Dean felt it too. Dean blinks a few times like a deer in the headlights, and then his face softens a little and he nods.

"I … I never thought about it like that," he admits.

Sam lets out another ragged breath that sort of turns into a half-sob of its own volition, and suddenly Dean's stepping toward him and pulling him in close. He wraps his arms around Sam's back and Sam does the same, bending over enough to bury his face into Dean's neck. He isn't really crying anymore, but he's still shaking and he still feels weak and worn down and like he's been through a hurricane, so the warmth and solidness of Dean's chest is a welcome relief.

"M'sorry, Sammy," Dean whispers. "You're right, okay? You didn't know what Roy was doing. Hell, _Roy_ didn't know what Roy was doing. This wasn't your fault. I was … I dunno. Being selfish, I guess. I never stopped to think about what this whole thing was doing to you."

"I couldn't lose you, Dean," Sam mumbles, and Dean shushes him and rubs up and down his back soothingly.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, 'specially if you have anything to say about it."

Sam chuckles thickly. "You got that right."

Dean laughs back, and then he leans back enough to kiss Sam softly. It's innocent and almost completely chaste, but Sam melts into it. He's really shaken down to his core at coming so close to Dean being taken away from him, but he knows Dean wasn't exactly left unscathed by everything that happened in the last couple days, so Sam does his best to keep his own scars hidden. Dean's okay now, so really it doesn't matter. Sam just won't be too surprised if he finds himself keeping an extra close eye on his brother for the next little while, at least when they're on a hunt.

"Are we okay?" Dean asks gently, cupping Sam's cheek in his palm and wiping the lingering wetness from under Sam's eye with his thumb.

Sam nods. "'Course we are."

"You ready to get the hell outta Nebraska?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Sam answers.

Dean presses another kiss to his lips and then reaches around and playfully smacks his ass. "C'mon, Sasquatch. I'll even let you drive."


End file.
